For Annie With Lights
by moodiful819
Summary: Ino had always wanted to be famous. Told by Shikamaru. Non-romantic ShikaIno. Mature content


A/N: Written on a whim after I started reading And All The King's Horses and listening to James Blunt's (yes, I listen to him. Not too proud of it) Annie, which spawned this thing that took the theme of the song. It's a pretty good—okay, great—song that really fits Ino's character as a possible Hollywood-tragic-tale girl. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and like it enough to leave a review, and thank you for reading this drivel.

(Uploaded because there is only so much college application you can take before you feel like wailing in despair from the frustration of it all. Written around AP exams last year. )

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**For Annie With Lights**_  
by moodiful819_

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_Annie you're a star  
You're just not going very far  
And all the world will know your name  
And you'll be famous as you are_

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Yamanaka Ino was going to be famous.

Her ideas of her name being known everywhere up in lights was not a secret, had been known as soon as she was old enough to form words and imagine a microphone out of a daisy. Shikamaru had seen it all. As her best male friend, he had to. They were inseparable only because she never let him go, and he resented her as much as he loved her. When other girls were focusing on books and learning, she was focused on her ridiculously long hair and keeping her face so freaking, freaking, _fucking_ clean and pristine that she shined. Oh, she wasn't so shallow as to say that she was a kunoichi for fun, but she was shallow enough to believe that she would be known and loved everywhere.

Even when they got older, cruder, bitterer, that dream never left her. She would tell him constantly that she wouldn't be forgotten. She was going to be remembered—a somebody somewhere something. That dream became more desperate for her when Sakura began to bloom, then crumbled when she heard the news Sasuke had died. Sakura was never quite the same after that, and it made Ino swear she would be on top, so over the top she was above the fucking moon and stars and was breathing out above the universe and above the pain where failure could not touch her. When she said it like that, part of him found himself dreaming with her. He could actually see the stars.

Her first plan was to party her way to the top. She drank, snorted, and partied to excess until she could be found every morning at 3AM passed out by some dumpster like clockwork. When that didn't work, she cleaned herself up; wiped the coke tracks from her nose and trained constantly. The ranks passed like days: Jounin, Hospital Director, Anbu, Anbu Interrogation, Captain—_Assassin_. She pushed harder, faster, more, more, more, but that prestige, despite her training, was always out of her league.

Her last rank was in Anbu. She had moved out of Interrogation and into Assassination. He rarely saw her, but he was on her last mission with her. It was an S-rank to kill a shinobi lord who had killed the previous daimyo and taken his land, and Shikamaru's skills would be perfect for infiltrating the building.

The mission had been surprisingly easy. His men were of little threat to their team and Ino had managed to take him out in twenty minutes. The return home was supposed to be just as easy, but life just couldn't be easy. It had to be hard and crappy and difficult. God must have hated him that day for having such an easy life so far because he set off a landslide that day. The sounds of the rocks tumbling still echoed in his mind.

"_Shikamaru, watch out!"_

Ino pushed him out of the way just as a tumbling boulder fell just where he had been. There were rocks, and screaming. They watched in horror as the ground opened up like the gates of Hell and swallowed the earth beneath their feet. They couldn't run fast enough—the sinkhole kept eating, eating, eating like there wasn't enough that could satisfy its appetite.

'_Kind of like Chouji.'_

They ran for miles and kept running. Sweat was pouring on everyone from everywhere. Vomit pushed at his throat and the smell clung inside his nostrils as he gagged the vomit back and gagged at the air pushing into him like sandpaper on his throat. There was a cliff sitting high at the edges of the scenery and if he wasn't so afraid of dying here in Iwa, he would've thought it was pretty.

"_Shikamaru!"_ There was her voice again, barking and grating sharply on every dulled part of his body and he winced when a kunai nipped at his shoulder. Turning back, he saw a shadow peek out from atop the cliff. The rockslide was no accident, but Keiko, the new jounin—the freshman, fresh meat—tripping and falling back with a severed Achilles' tendon, that was an accident.

She fell back spectacularly in slow motion. It was just like in the movies; she pitched forward and slipped back as the foliage swallowed her. And just like in the movies, a hero emerges. This time, it was a heroine with white-blonde hair that was still absurdly long and a not-so-clean face that didn't fucking shine, and she fell back, defending the girl from the onslaught of raining metal as the girl tried desperately to stem the bleeding and not scream like she was going to die here away from home. The clanging of metal plunked and sparked in his mind as vividly as the fireworks they made against Ino's sword as she fought tooth-and-nail. Her hair, up in a high ponytail that swept the floor as she moved, swished behind her like a war flag; she looked violent, beautiful, and so awe-inspiring that he almost stopped to stare. She was fighting so hard—for the girl, for the guy, for the fame that seemed to slip through her fingers constantly like water running in a stream—that she seemed like she was actually going to win…

_Except then, there was that familiar rumble. _

She died crushed in the rubble with her body hunched over the girl. She had been defeated. She hadn't even seen the rocks until it was too late.

And now…now Shikamaru stood at the memorial stone. It was early morning, and the sun was coming out of the darkened clouds as if God loved him again and hadn't killed both his teacher and his best friend. It bathed the meadow and gleamed off of the multi-colored wildflowers. It was so beautiful that he would've liked to stay here forever.

Dropping his gaze, he stared at the stone and smirked besides himself. In the end, Ino had gotten the fame she had wanted so dearly as a child. Her name was one Konoha would remember forever for her valiancy and work effort. Who knew being a stubborn bitch could have come in handy so well?

The thought was terrible, but it didn't stop his sides from trembling as he smothered the laugh against his tightly-pressed lips. The aches and tears subsiding, he sighed and reached into his pockets to pull out a cigarette and lighter. He didn't smoke, but every once in a while couldn't hurt, and he was doing it for a friend.

Taking it between his lips, he took a hit and puffed the smoke out like a pro before taking the thing between his fingers and holding it at his side. He told her the news—she would've never let him live it down if he allowed her to fall behind on the gossip—Sakura was doing better; Naruto was Hokage now; Sai was looking slightly lost without her around; and he was married to Temari with children. Though once upon a time, he might've loved Ino—loved her less than a sister and more like a lover—time had split them apart and they moved on away from each other. He told Ino she'd approve of Temari despite their differences and they named their first daughter after her.

"She reminds me of you," he told her, a faint smile playing on his lips.

And with that, he placed the cigarette—still burning and consuming like that sinkhole and that rockslide—on the edge of the epitaph. The smell of burning paper and tobacco permeated the air and he breathed it in with the wildflowers. Smiling wistfully, he watched as the smoke curled in thin tendrils around her name. As time passed, her name would be erased—either by time and the elements or the need for more space for newer names—but it would be gone. He'd never forget her—could not and would not—but even he would be gone.

The fact discomfited him and he grunted as he stepped away, the spotlight of sunshine creeping over the grass as he walked. On a whim, he lit another cigarette—one he'd smoke and keep to take the edge off—and stole another glance at the monument and smiled to himself around his cigarette as the sunshine struck the rock perfectly.

Her name was in lights.


End file.
